DUKE 

UNIVERSITY 

LIBRARY 


Treasure  l^gom 


t^^J" J?^Mdx?& 


LARA, 


A   TALE. 


JACQUELINE 


A   TALE. 


boston: 

PUBLISHED   BY   WELLS   AND   LILLY, 

1814. 


T,. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


The  reader  of  Lara  may  probably  re- 
gard it  as  a  sequel  to  a  poem  that  re- 
cently appeared :  whether  the  cast  of 
the  hero's  character,  the  turn  of  his 
adventures,  and  the  general  outline  and 
colouring  of  the  story,  may  not  encourage 
such  a  supposition,  shall  be  left  to  his 
determination.  To  his  conjecture  is  also 
referred  the  name  of  the  writer,  the 
knowledge  of  which  would  be  of  no  ser- 
vice in  assisting  his  decision  on  the  failure 
or  success  of  the  attempt. 

The  Poem  of  Jacqueline  is  the  pro- 
duction of  a  different  author,  and  is 
added  at  the  request  of  the  writer  of  the 
former  tale,  whose  wish  and  entreaty  it 
was  that  it  should  occupy  the  first  pages 
of  the  following  volume ;   and  he  regrets 


W 


IV  ADVERTISEMENT. 

that  the  tenacious  courtesy  of  his  friend 
would  not  permit  him  to  place  it  where 
the  judgment  of  the  reader,  concurring 
with  his  own,  will  suggest  its  more  ap- 
propriate station. 


CONTENTS. 


LARA. 


Page. 
Canto  I l3 


II. 


45 


JACQUELINE. 

Part  I 79 

II 87 

III 93 


¥¥V¥7. 


NOTE. 

Canto  I.  page  13,  line  I. 
The  Serfs  are  glad  through  Lara's  wide  domain. 

"  Tb.e  reader  is  advertised  that  the  name  only 
of  Lira  being  Spanish,  and  no  circumstance  of 
loci!  or  national  description  fixing  the  scene  or 
hero  of  the  poem  to  any  country  or  age,  the  word 
'iSVr/",'  which  could  not  be  correctly  applied  to 
the  lower  classes  in  Spain,  who  were  never  vassals 
of  tiie  soil,  has  nevertheless  been  employed  to 
designate  the  followers  of  our  fictitious  clueftain." 


LARA, 


CANTO   I. 


LARA. 


CANTO  FIRST, 


I. 

The  Serfs  are  glad  through  Lara's  wide  domain, 
And  Slavery  half  forgets  her  feudal  chain  ; 
He,  their  unhop'd,  but  unforgotten  lord, 
The  long  self-exiled  chieftain  is  restored  : 
There  be  bright  faces  in  the  busy  hall, 
Bowls  on  the  board,  and  banners  on  the  wall ; 
Far  chequering  o'er  the  pictured  window  plays 
The  unwonted  faggots'  hospitable  blaze  ; 
And  gay  retainers  gather  round  the  hearth  9 

With  tongues  all  loudness,  and  with  eyes  all  mirth. 


P 


U  LARA. 


II. 


The  chief  of  Lara  is  returned  again  : 
And  why  had  Lara  cross'd  the  bounding  maia  ? 
Left  by  his  sire,  too  young  such  loss  to  know, 
Lord  of  himself ; — that  heritage  of  woe, 
That  fearful  empire  wliich  the  human  breast 
But  holds  to  rob  the  heart  within  of  rest ! — 
With  jone  to  check,  and  few  to  point  in  time 
The  thousand  paths  that  slope  the  way  to  crime  j 
Then,  when  he  most  required  commandment,  then 
Had  Lara's  daring  boyhood  govern'd  men.       20 
It  skills  not,  boots  not  step  by  step  to  trace 
His  youth  through  all  the  mazes  of  its  race  ; 
Short  was  the  course  his  restlessness  had  run, 
But  long  enough  to  leave  him  half  undone. 

tic 

And  Lara  left  in  youth  his  father-land  ; 
But  from  the  hour  he  waved  his  parting  hand 
Bach  trace  wax'd  fainter  of  his  course,  till  all 
Had  nearly  ceased  his  memory  to  recafl. 


casto  r. 


LARA.  15 


His  sire  was  dust,  his  vassals  could  declare, 
'Twas  all  they  knew,  that  Lara  was  not  there ;  30 
Nor  sent,  nor  came  he,  till  conjecture  grew 
Cold  in  the  many,  anxious  in  the  few. 
His  hall  scarce  echoes  with  his  wonted  name, 
His  portrait  darkens  in  its  fading  frame, 
Another  chief  consoled  his  destined  bride, 
The  young  forgot  him,  and  the  old  had  died ; 
"  Yet  doth  he  live  !"  exclaims  the  impatient  heir, 
And  sighs  for  sables  which  he  must  not  wear. 
A  hundred  scutcheons  deck  with  gloomy  grace 
The  Laras'  last  and  longest  dwelling  place ;      40 
But  one  is  absent  from  the  mouldering  file 
That  now  were  welcome  in  that  Gothic  pile. 

IV. 

He  comes  at  last  in  sudden  loneliness, 

And  whence  they  know  not,  why  they  need  nqt 

guess; 
They  more  might  marvel,  when  the  greeting's  o'er, 
Not  that  he  came,  but  came  not  long  before  : 
No  train  is  his  beyond  a  single  page, 
Of  foreign  aspect,  and  of  tender  age. 


16  LARA.  canto  i. 

Years  had  roll'd  on,  and  fast  they  speed  away 
To  those  that  wonder  as  to  those  that  stay ;      59 
But  lack  of  tidings  from  another  clime 
Had  lent  a  flagging  wing  to  weary  Time. 
They  see,  they  recognise,  yet  almost  deem 
The  present  dubious,  or  the  past  a  dream. 
He  lives,  nor  yet  is  past  his  manhood's  prime, 
Though  seared  by  toil,  and  something  touch'd  by 

time; 
His  faults,  whate'er  they  were,  if  scarce  forgot, 
Might  be  untaught  him  by  his  varied  lot ; 
Not  good  nor  ill  of  late  were  known,  his  name 
Might  yet  uphold  his  patrimonial  fame.  60 

His  soul  in  youth  was  haughty,  but  his  sins 
No  more  than  pleasure  from  the  stripling  wins ; 
And  such,  if  not  yet  harden'd  in  their  course, 
Might  be  redeem'd,  nor  ask  a  long  remorse. 


And  they  indeed  were  changed— 'tis  quickly  seen 
Whate'er  he  be,  'twas  not  what  he  had  been ; 
That  brow  in  furrow'd  lines  had  fix'd  at  last,    ' 
And  spake  of  passions,  but  of  passion  past  ,• 


canto  i.  LARA.  17 

The  pride,  but  not  the  fire,  of  early  days, 
Coldness  of  mien,  and  carelessness  of  praise  ;      70 
A  high  demeanour,  and  a  glance  that  took 
Their  thoughts  from  others  by  a  single  look  ; 
And  that  sarcastic  levity  of  tongue, 
The  stinging  of  a  heart  the  world  hath  stung, 
That  darts  in  seeming  playfulness  around, 
And  makes  those  feel  that  will  not  own  the  wound ; 
All  these  seem'd  his,  and  something  more  beneath 
Than  glance  could  well  reveal,  or  accent  breathe. 
Ambition,  glory,  love,  the  common  aim 
That  some  can    conquer,    and   that   all  would 
claim,  80 

Within  his  breast  appear'd  no  more  to  strive, 
Yet  seem'd  as  lately  they  had  been  alive ; 
And  some  deep  feeling  it  were  vain  to  trace 
At  moments  lighten'd  o'er  his  livid  face. 

VI. 

Not  much  he  lov'd  long  question  of  the  past, 
Nor  told  of  wondrous  wilds,  and  desarts  vast 
In  those  far  lands  where  he  had  wandered  lone, 
And— as  himself  would  have  it  seem— unknown : 


18  LARA.  c*t*to  i. 

Yet  these  in  vain  his  eye  could  scarcely  scan 
Nor  glean  experience  from  his  fellow  man  ;        90 
But  what  he  had  beheld  he  shunn'd  to  show, 
As  hardly  worth  a  stranger's  care  to  know ; 
If  still  more  prying  such  inquiry  grew, 
His  brow  fell  darker,  and  his  words  more  few. 


VII. 

Not  unrejoiced  to  see  him  once  again, 
Warm  was  his  welcome  to  the  haunts  of  men .; 
Born  of  high  lineage,  link'd  in  high  command, 
He  mingled  with  the  Magnates  of  his  land ; 
Join'd  the  carousals  of  the  great  and  gay, 
And  saw  them  smile  or  sigh  their  hours  away ;  100 
But  still  he  only  saw,  and  did  not  share 
The  common  pleasure  or  the  general  care  ; 
He  did  not  follow  what  they  all  pursued 
With  hope  still  baffled,  still  to  be  renew'd ; 
Nor  shadowy  honour,  nor  substantial  gain, 
Nor  beauty's  preference,  and  the  rival's  pain  '. 
Around  him  some  mysterious  circle  thrown 
Repell'd  approach,  and  showed  him  still  alone ; 
Upon  his  eye  sate  something  of  reproof, 
That  kept  at  least  frivolity  aloof;  11$ 


CAXT.  ,.  LARA.  1» 

And  things  more  timid  that  beheld  him  near. 
In  silence  gaz'd,  or  whisper'd  mutual  fear  ; 
And  they  the  wiser,  friendlier  few  confess'd 
They  deem'd  him  better  than  his  air  express'd. 

VIII. 

'Twas  strange— in  youth  all  action  and  all  life, 
Burning  for  pleasure,  not  averse  from  strife  ; 
Woman— the  field— the  ocean— all  that  gave 
Promise  of  gladness,  peril  of  a  grave, 
In  turn  he  tried— he  ransack'd  all  below, 
And  found  his  recompense  in  joy  or  woe,  1 2» 

No  tame,  trite  medium  ;  for  his  feelings  sought 
In  that  intenseness  an  escape  from  thought 
The  tempest  of  his  heart  in  scorn  had  gazed 
On  that  the  feebler  elements  hath  raisM  ; 
The  rapture  of  his  heart  had  look'd  on  high, 
And  ask'd  if  greater  dwelt  beyond  the  sky  : 
Chain'd  to  excess,  the  slave  of  each  extreme, 
How  woke  he  from  the  wildness  of  that  dream  ? 
Alas  !  he  told  not— but  he  did  awake 
To  curse  the  wither'd  heart  that  would  not  break 


20  LARA. 


IX. 


Books,  for  his  volume  heretofore  was  Man,      131 
With  eye  more  curious  he  appear'd  to  scan, 
And  oft  in  sudden  mood  for  many  a  day 
From  all  communion  he  would  start  away  : 
And  then,  his  rarely  call'd  attendants  said, 
Through  night's  long  hours  would  sound  his  hurried 

tread 
O'er  the  dark  gallery,  where  his  fathers  frown'd 
In  rude  but  antique  portraiture  around. 
They  heard,  but  whisper'd — "  that  must  not  be 

known — 
"  The  sound  of  words  less  earthly  than  his  own.  149 
"  Yes,  they  who  chose  might  smile,  but  some  had 

seen 
"  They  scarce  knew  what,  but  more  than  should 

have  been. 
"  Why  gaz'd  he  so  upon  the  ghastly  head 
"  Which  hands  profane  had  gather'd  from  the  dead, 
"  That  still  beside  his  open'd  volume  lay, 
"  As  if  to  startle  all  save  him  away  ? 
"  Why  slept  he  not  when  others  were  at  rest  ? 
"  Why  heard  no  music,  and  received  no  guest  Is 


CANTO  I. 


LARA.  21 


"  All  was  not  well  they  deemed—but  where  the 

wrong? 
"  Some  knew  perchance— but  'were  a  tale  too 

long ;  150 

"  And  such  besides  were  too  discreetly  wise, 
"  To  more  than  hint  their  knowledge  in  surmise ; 
"  But  if  they  would— they  could"— around  the 

board 
Thus  Lara's  vassals  prattled  of  their  lord. 

X. 

It  was  the  night— and  Lara's  glassy  stream 

The  stars  are  studding,  each  with  imaged  beam  I 

So  calm,  the  waters  scarcely  seem  to  stray, 

And  yet  they  glide  like  happiness  away; 

Reflecting  far  and  fairy-like  from  high 

The  immortal  lights  that  live  along  the  sky :    160 

Its  banks  are  fringed  with  many  a  goodly  tree, 

And  flowers  the  fairest  that  may  feast  the  bee ; 

Such  in  her  chaplet  infant  Dian  wove, 

And  Innocence  would  offer  to  her  love. 

These  deck  the  shore ;  the  waves  their  channel 

make 
In  windings  bright  and  mazy  like  the  snake 


22  LARA.  canto  i. 

All  was  so  still,  go  soft  in  earth  and  air 

You  scarce  would  start  to  meet  a  spirit  there;- 

Secure  that  nought  of  evil  could  delight 

To  walk  in  such  a  scene,  on  such  a  night !         I/O 

It  was  a  moment  only  for  the  good : 

So  Lara  deemed,  nor  longer  there  he  stood, 

But  turned  in  silence  to  his  castle-gate ; 

Such  scene  his  soul  no  more  could  contemplate  : 

Such  scene  reminded  him  of  other  days, 

Of  skies  more  cloudless,  moons  of  purer  blaze, 

Of  nights  more  soft  and  frequent,  hearts  that  now — 

No— no — the  storm  may  beat  upon  his  brow, 

Fnfelt — unsparing — but  a  night  like  this, 

A  night  of  beauty  mock'd  such  breast  as  his.  Igft 


XI. 

Me  turned  within  his  solitary  hall, 
And  his  high  shadow  shot  along  the  wall ; 
There  were  the  painted  forms  of  other  times,. 
'Twas  all  they  left  of  virtues  or  of  crimes. 
Save  vague  tradition;  and  the  gloomy  vaults 
That  hid  their  dust,  their  foibles,  and  their  faults; 
And  half  a  column  of  the  pompous  page, 
That  speeds  the  specious  tale  from  age  to  age; 


cakto  i.  LARA.  23 

Where  history's  pen  its  praise  or  blame  supplies, 
And  lies  like  truth,  and  still  most  truly  lies.    190 
He  wandering  mused,  and  as  the  moonbeam  shone' 
Through  the  dim  lattice  o'er  the  floor  of  stone, 
And  the  high  fretted  roof,  and  saints,  that  there 
O'er  Gothic  windows  knelt  in  pictured  prayer, 
Reflected  in  fantastic  figures  grew, 
Like  life,  but  not  like  mortal  life,  to  view ; 
His  bristling  locks  of  sable,  brow  of  gloom, 
And  the  wide  waving  of  his  shaken  plume 
Glanced  like  a  spectre's  attributes,  and  gave 
Bis  aspect  all  that  terrour  gives  the  grave.      200 

XII. 

-'Twas  midnight— all  was  slumber;  the  lone  light 
Dimm'd  in  the  lamp,  as  loth  to  break  the  night. 
Hark !  there  be  murmurs  heard  in  Lara's  hall — 
A  sound— a  voice — a  shriek — a  fearful  call ! 
A  long,  loud  shriek— and  silence— did  they  heal- 
That  frantic  echo  burst  the  sleeping  ear  ? 
They  heard  and  rose,  and  tremulously  brave 
Rush  where  the  sound  invoked  their  aid  to  save  j 
They  come  with  half-lit  tapers  in  their  hands, 
A»d  3natch'd  in  startled  haste  unbelted  brands.  21G 


24  LARA. 


XIII. 


Cold  as  the  marble  where  his  length  was  laid, 
Pale  as  the  beam  that  o'er  his  features  played, 
Was  Lara  stretch'd ;  his  half  drawn  sabre  near, 
Dropp'd  it  should  seem  in  more  than  nature's  fear ; 
Yet  he  was  firm,  or  had  been  firm  till  now, 
And  still  defiance  knit  his  gathered  brow  ; 
Though  mix'd  with  terrour,  senseless  as  he  lay, 
There  lived  upon  his  lip  the  wish  to  slay ; 
Some  half  form'd  threat  in  utterance  there  had 

died, 
Some  imprecation  of  despairing  pride ;  220 

His  eye  was  almost  seal'd,  but  not  forsook, 
Even  in  its  trance  the  gladiator's  look, 
That  oft  awake  his  aspect  could  disclose, 
And  now  was  fix'd  in  horrible  repose. 
They  raise  him — bear  him ; — hush !  he  breathes, 

he  speaks, 
The  swarthy  blush  recolours  in  his  cheeks, 
His  lip  resumes  its  red,  his  eye,  though  dim, 
Rolls  wide  and  wild,  each  slowly  quivering  limb 
Recalls  its  function,  but  his  words  are  strung 
In  terms  that  seem  not  of  bis  native  tongue }    230 


caxto  i.  LARA.  25 

Distinct  but  strange,  enough  they  understand 
To  deem  them  accents  of  another  land, 
And  such  they  were,  and  meant  to  meet  an  ear 
That  hears  him  not — alas !  that  cannot  hear ! 

XIV. 

His  page  approach'd,  and  he  alone  appear'd 
To  know  the  import  of  the  words  they  heard ; 
And  by  the  changes  cf  his  cheek  and  brow 
They  were  not  such  as  Lara  should  avow, 
Nor  he  interpret,  yet  with  less  surprise 
Than  those  around,  their  chieftain's  state  he  eyes, 
But  Lara's  prostrate  form  he  bent  beside,        241 
And  in  that  tongue  which  seem'd  his  own  replied, 
And  Lara  heeds  those  tones  that  gently  seem 
To  soothe  away  the  horrours  of  his  dream ; 
If  dream  it  were,  that  thus  could  overthrow 
A  breast  that  needed  not  ideal  woe. 

XV. 

Whate'er  his  phrensy  dream'd  or  eye  beheld, 
If  yet  remember'd  ne'er  to  be  reveal'd, 


26  LARA.  canto  i. 

Rests  at  his  heart :  the  custom'd  morning  came, 
And  breath'd  new  vigour  in  his  shaken  frame;  250 
And  solace  sought  he  none  from  priest  nor  leech, 
And  soon  the  same  in  movement  and  in  speech 
As  heretofore  he  fill'd  the  passing  hours, 
Nor  less  he  smiles,  nor  more  his  forehead  lours 
Than  these  were  wont;  and  if  the  coming  night 
Appear'd  less  welcome  now  to  Lara's  sight, 
He  to  his  marvelling  vassals  show'd  it  not, 
Whose  shuddering  prov'd  their  fear  was  less  forgot. 
In  trembling  pairs  (alone  they  dared  not)  crawl 
The  astonish'd  slaves,  and  shun  the  fated  hall ;  2C0 
The  waving  banner,  and  the  clapping  door, 
The  rustling  tapestry,  and  the  echoing  floor; 
The  long  dim  shadows  of  surrounding  trees, 
The  flapping  bat,  the  night  song  of  the  breeze ; 
Aught  they  behold  or  hear  their  thought  appals 
As  evening  saddens  o'er  the  dark  grey  walls. 

XVI. 

Vain  thought !  that  hour  of  ne'er  unravell'd  glooai 

Came  not  again,  or  Lara  could  assume 

A  seeming  <?f  forgetfulness  that  made 

His  vassals  more  amaa'd  nor  less  afraid—        270 


eaKro  r.  LARA.  27 

Had  memory  vanish'd  then  with  sense  restored? 
Since  word,  nor  look,  nor  gesture  of  their  lord 
Betrayed  a  feeling  that  recalled  to  these 
That  fevered  moment  of  his  mind's  disease. 
Was  it  a  dream  ?  was  his  the  voice  that  spoke 
Those  strange  wild  accents;  his  the  cry  that  broke 
Their  slumber  ?  his  the  oppress'd  o'er-laboured 

heart 
That  ceased  to  beat,  the  look  that  made  them  start? 
Could  he  who  thus  had  suffered,  so  forget 
When  such  as  saw  that  suffering  shudder  yet?  289 
Or  did  that  silence  prove  his  memory  fix'd 
Too  deep  for  words,  indelible,  unmixM 
In  that  corroding  secrecy  which  gnaw* 
The  heart  to  show  the  effect,  but  not  the  cause? 
Not  so  in  him;  his  breast  had  buried  both, 
Bfor  common  gazers  could  discern  the  growth 
Of  thoughts  that  mortal  lips  must  leave  half  told ; 
They  choke  the  feeble  words  that  would  unfold. 

XVII. 

In  him  inexplicably  mix'd  appeared 

Much  to  be  loved  and  hated,  sought  and  feared ;  200 


28  LARA,  canto  i. 

Opinion  varying  o'er  his  hidden  lot, 

In  praise  or  railing  ne'er  his  name  forgot; 

His  silence  formed  a  theme  for  others'  prate — 

They  guess'd — they  gazed — they  fain  would  know 

his  fate. 
What  had  he  been  ?  what  was  he,  thus  unknown, 
Who  walked  their  world,  his  lineage  only  known  ? 
A  hater  of  his  kind  ?  yet  some  would  say, 
With  them  he  could  seem  gay  amidst  the  gay; 
But  own'd,  that  smile  if  oft  observed  and  near, 
Waned  in  its  mirth  and  withered  to  a  sneer ;    300 
That  smile  might  reach  his  lip,  but  passed  not  by, 
I? one  e'er  could  trace  its  laughter  to  his  eye : 
Yet  there  was  softness  too  in  his  regard, 
At  times,  a  heart  as  not  by  nature  hard, 
But  once  perceiv'd,  his  spirit  seem'd  to  chide 
Such  weakness,  as  unworthy  of  its  pride, 
And  steel'd  itself,  as  scorning  to  redeem 
One  doubt  from  others  half  withheld  esteem ; 
In  self-inflicted  penance  of  a  breast  309 

Which  tenderness  might  once  have  wrung  from  rest; 
In  vigilance  of  grief  that  would  compel 
The  soul  to  hate  for  having  lov'd  too  well. 


caxto  i.  LARA.  29 

XVIII. 

There  was  in  him  a  vital  scorn  of  all : 
As  if  the  worst  had  fall'n  which  could  befall 
He  stood  a  stranger  in  this  breathing  world, 
An  erring  spirit  from  another  hurled ; 
A  thing  of  dark  imaginings,  that  shaped 
By  choice  the  perils  he  by  chance  escaped ; 
But  'scaped  in  vain,  for  in  their  memory  yet 
His  mind  would  half  exult  and  half  regret :      320 
With  more  capacity  for  love  than  earth 
Bestows  on  most  of  mortal  mould  and  birth, 
His  early  dreams  of  good  outstripp'd  the  truth, 
And  troubled  manhood  followed  baffled  youth  ; 
With  thought  of  years  in  phantom  chase  mispent, 
And  wasted  powers  for  better  purpose  lent ; 
And  fiery  passions  that  had  poured  their  wrath 
In  hurried  desolation  o'er  his  path, 
And  left  the  better  feelings  all  at  strife 
In  wild  reflection  o'er  Ills  stormy  life ;  330 

But  haughty  still,  and  loth  himself  to  blame, 
He  called  on  Nature's  self  to  share  the  shame, 
And  charged  all  faults  upon  the  fleshly  form 
She  gave  to  clog  the  soul,  and  feast  the  worm  ; 
1  * 


30  LARA.  CAxto  i. 

Till  he  at  lagt  confounded  good  and  ill, 

And  half  mistook  for  fate  the  acts  of  will : 

Too  high  for  common  selfishness,  he  could 

At  times  resign  his  own  for  others'  good, 

But  not  in  pity,  not  because  he  ought, 

But  in  some  strange  perversity  of  thought,      340 

That  swayed  him  onward  with  a  secret  pride 

To  do  what  few  or  none  would  do  beside  ; 

And  this  same  impulse  would  in  tempting  time 

Mislead  his  spirit  equally  to  crime ; 

So  much  he  soared  beyond,  or  sunk  beneath 

The  men  with  whom  he  felt  condemned  to  breathe, 

And  longed  by  good  or  ill  to  separate 

Himself  from  all  who  shared  his  mortal  state  j 

His  mind  abhorring  this  had  fixed  her  throne 

Far  from  the  world,  in  regions  of  her  own ;      350 

Thus  coldly  passing  all  that  passed  below, 

His  blood  in  temperate  seeming  now  would  flow : 

Ah !  happier  if  it  ne'er  with  guilt  had  glowed, 

But  ever  in  that  icy  smoothness  flowed ! 

'Tis  true,  with  other  men  their  path  he  walked, 

And  like  the  rest  in  seeming  did  and  talked, 

Nor  outraged  Reason's  rules  by  flaw  nor  start, 

His  madness  was  not  of  the  head,  but  heart ; 


canto  i.  LARA.  31 

And  rarely  wandered  in  his  speech,  or  drew 

His  thoughts  so  forth  as  to  offend  the  view.      360 


XIX. 

With  all  that  chilling  mystery  of  mien, 
And  seeming  gladness  to  remain  unseen ; 
He  had  (if  'twere  not  nature's  boon)  an  art 
Of  fixing  memory  on  another's  heart : 
It  was  not  love  perchance— nor  hate — nor  aught 
That  words  can  image  to  express  the  thought ; 
But  they  who  saw  him  did  not  see  in  vain, 
And  once  beheld,  would  ask  of  him  again  : 
And  those  to  whom  he  spake  remembered  well, 
And  on  the  words,  however  light,  would  dwell.  370 
None  knew,  nor  how,  nor  why,  but  he  entwined 
Himself  perforce  around  the  hearer's  mind; 
There  he  was  stamp'd,  in  liking,  or  in  hate, 
If  greeted  once;  however  brief  the  date 
That  friendship,  pity,  or  aversion  knew, 
Still  there  within  the  inmost  thought  he  grew. 
You  could  not  penetrate  his  soul,  but  found, 
Despite  your  wonder,  to  your  own  he  wound ; 
His  presence  haunted  still ;  and  from  the  breast 
He  forced  an  all  unwilling  interest ;  389 


32  LARA.  < 

Vain  was  the  struggle  in  that  mental  net, 
Mis  spirit  seemed  to  dare  you  to  forget ! 


XX. 

There  is  a  festival,  where  knights  and  dames, 
And  aught  that  wealth  or  lofty  lineage  claim? 
Appear— a  highborn  and  a  welcomed  guest 
To  Otho's  hall  came  Lara  with  the  rest. 
The  long  carousal  shakes  the  illumin'd  hall, 
Well  speeds  alike  the  banquet  and  the  ball  j 
And  the  gay  dance  of  bounding  Beauty's  train 
Links  grace  and  harmony  in  happiest  chain ;     3Gfi 
Blest  are  the  early  hearts  and  gentle  hands 
That  mingle  there  in  well  according  bands ; 
It,  is  a  sight  the  careful  brow  might  smooth, 
And  make  Age  smile,  and  dream  itself  to  youth, 
And  Youth  forget  such  hour  was  past  on  earth, 
So  springs  the  exulting  bosom  to  that  mirth  ! 

XXI. 

And  La*a  gaz'd  on  these  sedately  glad. 
His  brow  belied  him  if  his  soul  was  sad, 


canto  u  LARA.      *  33 

And  his  glance  followed  fast  each  fluttering  fair, 
Whose  steps  of  lightness  woke  no  echo  there:  400 
He  lean'd  against  the  lofty  pillar  nigh 
With  folded  arms  and  long  attentive  eye, 
JNor  niark'd  a  glance  so  sternly  fix'd  on  his, 
111  brook'd  high  Lara  scrutiny  like  this : 
At  length  he  caught  it,  'tis  a  face  unknown, 
But  seems  as  searching  his,  and  his  alone ; 
Prying  and  dark,  a  stranger's  by  his  mien, 
Who  still  till  now  had  gaz'd  on  him  unseen ; 
At  length  encountering  meets  the  mutual  gaze 
Of  keen  inquiry,  and  of  mute  amaze  j  410 

On  Lara's  glance  emotion  gathering  grew, 
As  if  distrusting  that  the  stranger  threw ; 
Along  the  stranger's  aspect  fix'd  and  stern 
Flash'd  more  than  thence  the  vulgar  eye  could 
learn. 


XXII. 

•"Tis  he ! "  the  stranger  cried,  and  those  that  heard 

Re-echo'd  fast  and  far  the  whisper'd  word. 

"  'Tis  he  !"— "  'Tis  who  ?"  they  question  far  and 

near, 
Till  louder  accents  rung  on  Lara's  ear  ; 


34  LARA.  canto  i. 

So  widely  spread,  few  bosoms  well  could  brook 
The  general  marvel,  or  that  single  look ;         420 
But  Lara  stirr'd  not,  changed  not,  the  surprise 
That  sprung  at  first  to  his  arrested  eyes 
Seem'd  now  subsided,  neither  sunk  nor  rais'd 
Glanc'd  his  eye  round,  tho'  still  the  stranger  gaz'd  ; 
And  drawing  nigh,  exclaim'd,  with  haughty  sneer, 
'"Tishe! — how  came  he  thence? — what  doth 
he  here?" 

XXIII. 

It  were  too  much  for  Lara  to  pass  by 

Such  question,  so  repeated  fierce  and  high  j 

With  look  collected,  but  with  accent  cold, 

More  mildly  firm  than  petulantly  bold,  430 

He  tum'd,  and  met  the  inquisitorial  tone — 

"  My  name  is  Lara ! — when  thine  own  is  known, 

"  Doubt  not  my  fitting  answer  to  requite 

"  The  unlook'd  for  courtesy  of  such  a  knight. 

"  'Tis  Lara ! — further  wouldst  thou  mark  or  ask  ? 

"  I  shun  no  question,  and  I  wear  no  mask." 

"Thou  shunn'st  no  question !  Ponder — is  there  none 
*'  Thy  heart  must  answer,tho'  thine  ear  would  shun  ? 


canto  i.  LARA.  35 

"  Anddeem'st  thou  me  unknown  too?  Gaze  again! 
''  At  least  thy  memory  was  not  given  in  vain.  440 
"  Oh !  never  canst  thou  cancel  half  her  debt, 
"  Eternity  forbids  thee  to  forget." 
With  slow  and  searching  glance  upon  his  face 
Grew  Lara's  eyes,  but  nothing  there  could  trace 
They  knew,  or  chose  to  know — with  dubious  look 
He  deign'd  no  answer,  but  his  head  he  shook, 
And  half  contemptuous  turn'd  to  pass  away; 
But  the  stem  stranger  motioned  him  to  stay.   448 
"  A  word  ! — I  charge  thee  stay,  and  answer  here 
"  To  one,  who,  wert  thou  noble,  were  thy  peer, 
"  But  as  thou  wast  and  art— nay,  frown  not,  lord, 
"  If  false,  'tis  easy  to  disprove  the  word — 
"  But,  as  thou  wast  and  art,  on  thee  looks  down, 
"  Distrusts  thy  smiles,  but  shakes  not  at  thy  frown. 

"  Art  thou  not  he  ?  whose  deeds " 

"Whate'erlbe, 
"  Words  wild  as  these,  accusers  like  to  thee 
"  I  list  no  further;  those  with  whom  they  weigh 
"  May  hear  the  rest,  nor  venture  to  gainsay 
"  The  wondrous  tale  no  doubt  thy  tongue  can  tell, 
"  Which  thus  begins  so  courteously  and  well.  4<J0 
"  Let  Otho  cherish  here  his  polish'd  gues*, 


36  LARA.  canto  r. 

"  To  him  my  thanks  and  thoughts  shall  be  ex- 
pressed." 
And  here  their  wondering  host  hath  interposed — 
"  Whate'er  there  be  between  you  undisclosed, 
"  This  is  no  time  nor  fitting  place  to  mar 
"  The  mirthful  meeting  with  a  wordy  war. 
"  If  thou,  Sir  Ezzelin,  hast  ought  to  show 
"  Which  it  befits  Count  Lara's  ear  to  know, 
"  To-morrow,  here,  or  elsewhere,  as  may  best 
"  Beseem  your  mutual  judgment,  speak  the  rest; 
"  I  pledge  myself  for  thee,  as  not  unknown,     471 
"  Though  like  Count  Lara  now  return'd  alone 
"  From  other  lands,  almost  a  stranger  grown; 
"  And  if  from  Lara's  blood  and  gentle  birth 
"  I  augur  right  of  courage  and  of  worth, 
•'  He  will  not  that  untainted  line  belie, 
"  Nor  aught  that  knighthood  may  accord  deny." 
"  To-morrow  be  it,"  Ezzelin  replied, 
"  And  here  our  several  worth  and  truth  be  tried ; 
"  I  gage  my  life,  my  falchion  to  attest  480 

"  My  words,  so  may  I  mingle  with  the  blest !" 
What  answers  Lara?  to  its  centre  shrunk 
His  soul,  in  deep  abstraction  sudden  sunk ; 
The  words  of  many,  and  the  eyes  of  all 


canto  i.  LARA.  37 

That  there  were  gather'd  seem'd  on  him  to  fall ; 
But  his  were  silent,  his  appear'd  to  stray 
In  far  forgetfulness  away-^away — 
Alas !  that  heedlessness  of  all  around 
Bespoke  remembrance  only  too  profound. 

XXIV* 

"  To-morrow ! — ay,  to-morrow !"  further  word 
Than  those  repeated  none  from  Lara  heard ;    491 
Upon  his  brow  no  outward  passion  spoke, 
From  his  large  eye  no  flashing  anger  broke ; 
Yet  there  was  something  fix'd  in  that  low  tone 
Which  show'd  resolve,  determined,  though  un- 
known. 
He  seiz'd  his  cloak— his  head  he  slightly  bow'd, 
And  passing  Ezzelin  he  left  the  crowd ; 
And,  as  he  pass'd  him,  smiling  met  the  frown 
With  which  that  chieftain's  brow  would  bear  hirfl 

down : 
It  was  nor  smile  of  mirth,  nor  struggling  pride 
That  curbs  to  scorn  the  wrath  it  cannot  hide ;  5<tt 
But  that  of  one  in  his  own  heart  secure 
Gf  all  that  he  would  do,  or  could  endurev 
2 


38  LARA-  eANTo  i. 

Could  this  mean  peace?  the  calmness  of  the  good  ? 
Or  guilt  grown  old  in  desperate  hardihood? 
Alas !  too  like  in  confidence  are  each 
For  man  to  trust  to  mortal  look  or  speech ; 
From  deeds,  and  deeds  alone,  may  he  discern 
Truths  which  it  wrings  the  unpractised  heart  to 
learn. 


.XXV. 

AndLara  called  his  page,  and  went  his  way—  510 
Well  could  that  stripling  word  or  sign  obey: 
His  only  follower  from  those  climes  afar 
Where  the  soul  glows  beneath  a  brighter  star; 
For  Lara  left  the  shore  from  whence  he  sprung, 
In  duty  patient,  and  sedate  though  young  j 
Silent  as  him  he  served,  his  faith  appears 
Above  his  station,  and  beyond  his  years. 
Though  not  unknown  the  tongue  of  Lara's  land, 
In  such  from  him  he  rarely  heard  command ;    519 
But  fleet  his  step,  and  clear  his  tones  would  come, 
When  Lara's  lip  breath'd  forth  the  words  of  home  r- 
Those  accents  as  his  native  mountains  dear^ 
Awake  their  absent  echoes  in  his  ear, 


canto  x.  LARA.  39 

Friends',  kindreds',  parents',  wonted  voice  recall, 
Now  lost,  abjured,  for  one— his  friend,  his  all: 
For  him  earth  now  disclosed  no  other  guide ; 
What  marvel  then  he  rarely  left  his  side  ? 


XXVI. 

Light  was  his  form,  and  darkly  delicate 
That  brdw  whereon  his  native  sun  had  sate,     529 
But  had  not  marr'd,  though  in  his  beams  he  grew, 
The  cheek  where  oft  the  unbidden  blush  shone 

through ; 
Yet  not  such  blush  as  mounts  when  health  would 

show 
All  the  heart's  hue  in  that  delighted  glow; 
But  'twas  a  hectic  tint  of  secret  care 
That  for  a  burning  moment  fevered  there. : 
And  the  wild  sparkle  of  his  eye  seem'd  caught 
From  high,  and  lightened  with  electric  thought, 
Though  its  black  orb  those  long  low  lashes  fringe,, 
Had  tempered  witli  a  melancholy  tinge ; 
Yet  less  of  sorrow  than  of  pride  was  there,      540 
Or  if  'twere  grief,  a  grief  that  none  should  share : 
And  pleased  not  him  the  sports  that  please  his  age, 
The  tricks  of  ^outh,  the  frolics  of  the  page> 


g£  LARA.  casto  i. 

For  hoars  on  Lara  he  would  fix  his  glance, 
As  all  forgotten  in  that  watchful  trance  j 
And  from  his  chief  withdrawn,  he  wandered  lone^ 
Brief  were  his  answers,  and  his  questions  none  j 
His  walk  the  wood,  his  sport  some  foreign  book  ; 
His  resting-place  the  bank  that  curbs  the  brook : 
He  seemed,  like  him  he  served,  to  live  apart    550 
From  all  that  lures  the  eye,  and  fills  the  heart  j 
To  know  no  brotherhood,  and  take  from  earth 
No  gift  beyond  that  bitter  boon— our  birth. 

XXVII. 

If  aught  he  loved,  'twas  Lara;  but  was  shown 

His  faith  in  reverence  and  in  deeds  alone ; 

In  mute  attention ;  and  his  care,  which  guessed 

Each  wish,  fulfilled  it  ere  the  tongue  expressed. 

Still  there  was  haughtiness  in  all  he  did, 

A  spirit  deep  that  brook'd  not  to  be  chid  ;       559 

His  zeal,  though  more  than  that  of  servile  hands, 

In  act  alone  obeys,  his  air  commands ; 

As  if  'twas  Lara's  less  than  Aw  desire 

That  thus  he  served,  but  surely  not  for  hire. 

Slight  were  the  tasks  enjoined  him  by  his  lord, 

To  hold  the  stirrup,  or  to  bear  the  sword  j 


canto  i.  LARA.  41 

To  tune  his  lute,  or  if  he  willed  it  more, 
On  tomes  of  other  times  and  tongues  to  pore ; 
But  ne'er  to  mingle  with  the  menial  train, 
To  whom  he  showed  nor  deference  nor  disdain, 
But  that  well-worn  reserve  which  proved  he  knew 
No  sympathy  with  that  familiar  crew :  571 

His  soul,  whate'er  his  station  or  his  stem, 
Could  bow  to  Lara,  not  descend  to  them. 
Of  higher  birth  he  seemed,  and  better  dayg, 
Nor  mark  of  vulgar  toil  that  hand  betrays, 
So  femininely  white  it  might  bespeak 
Another  sex,  when  matched  with  that  smooth 

cheek, 
But  for  his  garb,  and  something  in  his  gaze, 
More  wild  and  high  than  woman's  eye  betrays  ; 
A  latent  fierceness  that  far  more  became  580 

His  fiery  climate  than  his  tender  frame  : 
True,  in  his  words  it  broke  not  from  his  breast, 
But  from  his  aspect  might  be  more  than  guessed. 
Kaled  his  name,  though  rumour  said  he  bore 
Another  ere  he  left  his  mountain- shore ; 
For  sometimes  he  would  hear,  however  nigh, 
That  name  repeated  loud  without  reply, 
As  unfamiliar,  or,  if  roused  again, 
Start  to  the  sound,  as  but  remembered  then; 


-42  liARA.  canto  3. 

Unless  'twas  Lara's  wonted  voice  that  spake,  590 
For  then,  ear,  eyes,  and  heart  would  all  awake. 


XXVIII. 

He  had  looked  down  upon  the  festive  hall, 

And  marked  that  sudden  strife  so  marked  of  all ; 

And  when  the  crowd  around  and  near  him  told 

Their  wonder  at  the  calmness  Of  the  hold, 

Their  marvel  how  the  high-born  Lara  bore 

Such  insult  from  a  stranger,  doubly  sore, 

The  colour  of  young  Kaled  went  and  came, 

The  lip  of  ashes,  and  the  cheek  of  flame; 

And  o'er  his  brow  the  dampening  heart-drops  threw 

The  sickening  iciness  of  that  cold  dew  601 

That  rises  as  the  busy  bosom  sinks 

With  heavy  thoughts  from  which  reflection  shrinks. 

Yes — there  be  tilings  that  we  must  dream  and  dare^ 

And  execute  ere  thought  be  half  aware : 

Whate'er  might  Kaled's  be,  it  was  enow 

To  seal  his  lip,  but  agonize  his  brow. 

He  gazed  on  Ezzelin  till  Lara  cast 

That  sidelong  smile  upon  the  knight  he  passed  j 

When  Kaled  saw  that  smile  his  visage  fell,       610 

As  if  on  something  recognised  right  well  ^ 


CANTO  t.  jLARA.  43 

His  memory  read  in  such  a  meaning  more 
Than  Lara's  aspect  unto  others  wore, 
Forward  he  sprung — a  moment,  both  were  gone, 
And  all  within  that  hall  seemed  left  alone ; 
Each  had  so  fix'd  his  eye  on  Lara's  mien, 
All  had  so  mix'd  their  feelings  with  that  scene, 
That  when  bis  long  dark  shadow  through  the  porch 
IN o  more  relieves  the  glare  of  yon  high  torch, 
Each  pulse  beats  quicker,  and  all  bosoms  seem  620 
To  bound  as  doubting  from  too  black  a  dream, 
Such  as  we  know  is  false,  yet  dread  in  sooth, 
Because  the  worst  is  ever  nearest  truth. 
And  they  are  gone — but  Ezzelin  is  there, 
With  thoughtful  visage  and  imperious  air ; 
But  long  remain'd  not ;  ere  an  hour  expired 
He  waved  his  hand  to  Otho,  and  retired. 

XXIX. 

The  crowd  are  gone,  the  revellers  at  rest  $ 
The  courteous  host,  and  all-approving  guest, 
Again  to  that  accustomed  couch  must  creep     63© 
Where  joy  subsides,  and  sorrow  sighs  to  sleep, 
And  man  o'er-laboured  with  his  being's  strife 
Shrinks  to  that  sweet  forgetfulness  of  life  •. 


44  LARA.  canto  1, 

There  lie  love's  feverish  hope,  and  cunning's  guile, 
Hate's  working  brain,  and  lull'd  ambition's  wile, 
O'er  each  vain  eye  oblivion's  pinions  wave, 
And  quench'd  existence  crouches  in  a  grave. 
What  better  name  may  slumber's  bed  become  ? 
Night's  sepulchre,  the  universal  home. 
Where  weakness,  strength,  vice,  virtue,  sunk  supine, 
Alike  in  naked  helplessness  recline ;  641 

Glad  for  awhile  to  heave  unconscious  breath, 
Yet  wake  to  wrestle  with  the  dread  of  death, 
And  shun,  though  day  but  dawn  on  ills  increased, 
That  sleep,  the  loveliest,  since  it  dreams  the  least. 


CANTO  II 


LARA. 


CANTO    SECOND, 


Night  wanes— the  vapours  round  the  mountains 

curl'd 
Melt  into  morn,  and  Light  awakes  the  world. 
Man  has  another  day  to  swell  the  past, 
And  lead  him  near  to  little,  but  his  last ; 
But  mighty  Nature  bounds  us  from  her  birth,  650 
The  sun  is  in  the  heavens,  and  life  on  earth ; 
Flowers  in  the  valley,  splendour  in  the  beam, 
Health  on  the  gale,  and  freshness  in  the  stream;, 
immortal  man !  behold  her  glories  shine, 


48  LARA.  canto  ii. 

And  cry,  exulting  inly,  "  they  are  thine !" 
Gaze  on,  while  yet  thy  gladdened  eye  may  see, 
A  morrow  comes  when  they  are  not  for  thee ; 
And  grieve  what  may  above  thy  senseless  bier, 
Nor  earth  nor  sky  will  yield  a  single  tear ; 
Nor  cloud  shall  gather  more,  nor  leaf  shall  fall,  660 
Nor  gale  breathe  forth  one  sigh  for  thee,  for  all ; 
But  creeping  things  shall  revel  in  their  spoil, 
And  fit  thy  clay  to  fertilize  the  soil. 

II. 

'Tis  morn — 'tis  noon — assembled  in  the  hall, 
The  gathered  chieftains  come  to  Otho's  call ; 
'Tis  now  the  promised  hour  that  must  proclaim 
The  life  or  death  of  Lara's  future  fame ; 
When  Ezzelin  his  charge  may  here  unfold, 
And  whatsoe'er  the  tale,  it  must  be  told. 
His  faith  was  pledged,  and  Lara's  promise  given, 
To  meet  it  in  the  eye  of  man  and  heaven.        671 
Why  comes  he  not  ?  Such  truths  to  be  divulged, 
Methinks  the  accuser's  rest  is  long  indulged. 


LARA. 


HI. 


The  hour  is  past,  and  Lara  too  is  there, 

With  self-confiding,  coldly  patient  air ; 

Why  comes  not  Ezzelin  ?  The  hour  is  past, 

And  murmurs  rise,  and  Otho's  brow's  o'ercast. 

"  I  know  my  friend  !  his  faith  I  cannot  fear, 

M  If  yet  he  be  on  earth,  expect  him  here ; 

"  The  roof  that  held  him  in  the  valley  stands  680 

"  Between  my  own  and  noble  Lara's  lands ; 

"  My  halls  from  such  a  guest  had  honour  gain'd, 

"  Nor  had  Sir  Ezzelin  his  host  disdain' d,, 

"  But  tliat  some  previous  proof  forbade  his  stay, 

"  And  urged  him  to  prepare  against  to-day ; 

"  The  word  I  pledged  for  his  I  pledge  again, 

"  Or  will  myself  redeem  his  knighthood's  stain." 

He  ceased — and  Lara  answer'd,  "  I  am  here 
"  To  lend  at  thy  demand  a  listening  ear; 
"  To  tales  of  evil  from  a  stranger's  tongue,      690 
"Whose  words  already  might  my  heart  have 

wrung, 
"  But  that  I  deem'd  him  scarcely  less  than  mad, 
"  Qr,  at  the  worst,  a  foe  ignobly  bad. 


59  LARA.  canto  11. 

"  I  know  him  not — but  me  it  seems  he  knew 
*'  In  lands  where — but  I  must  not  trifle  too : 
"  Produce  this  babbler — or  redeem  the  pledge 
"  Here  in  thy  hold,  and  with  thy  falchion's  edge.^ 
Proud  Otho  on  the  instant,  reddening,  threw 
His  glove  on  earth,  and  forth  his  sabre  flew. 
"  The  last  alternative  befits  me  best,  700 

u  And  thus  I  answer  for  mine  absent  guest.1' 
With  cheek  unchanging  from  its  sallow  gloom, 
However  near  his  own  or  other's  tomb ; 
With  hand,  whose  almost  careless  coolness  spoke^, 
Its  grasp  well-used  to  deal  the  sabre-stroke ; 
With  eye,  though  calm,  determined  not  to  sparef 
Did  Lara  too  his  willing  weapon  bare. 
In  vain  the  circling  chieftains  round  them  closed, 
For  Otho's  phrensy  would  not  be  opposed ; 
And  from  his  lip  those  words  of  insult  fell —    710 
His  sword  is  good  who  can  maintain  them  well.- 

IV, 

Short  was  the  conflict,  furious,  blindly  rash, 
Vain  Otho  gave  his  bosom  to  the  gash : 
He  bled,  and  fell ;  but  not  with  deadly  wound, 
Stretched  by  a  dextrous  sleight  along  the  ground. 


canto  a.  LARA.  51 

"  Demand  thy  life !"  He  answered  not :  and  then 
From  that  red  floor  he  ne'er  had  risen  again, 
For  Lara's  brow  upon  the  moment  grew 
Almost  to  blackness  in  its  demon  hue ; 
And  fiercer  shook  his  angry  falchion  now 
Then  when  his  foe's  was  levelled  at  his  brow  $ 
Then  all  was  stern  collectedness  and  art, 
Now  rose  the  unleavened  hatred  of  his  heart  j 
So  little  sparing  to  the  foe  he  fell'd, 
That  when  the  approaching  crowd  his  arm  with- 
held, 
He  almost  turned  the  thirsty  point  on  those 
Who  thus  for  mercy  dared  to  interpose ; 
But  to  a  moment's  thought  that  purpose  bent, 
Yet  look'd  he  on  him  still  with  eye  intent, 
As  if  he  loathed  the  ineffectual  strife  73& 

That  left  a  foe,  howe'er  o'erthrown,  with  life ; 
As  if  to  search  how  far  the  wound  he  gave 
Had  sent  its  victim  onward  to  his  grave. 

V. 

They  raised  the  bleeding  Otho,  and  the  Leech 
Forbade  all  present  question,  eign,  and  speeeh ; 


52  LARA.  canto  it. 

The  others  met  within  a  neighbouring  hall, 
And  he,  incensed  and  heedless  of  them  all, 
The  eause  and  conqueror  in  this  sudden  fray, 
In  haughty  (silence  slowly  strode  away;  739 

He  back'd  his  steed,  his  homeward  path  he  took, 
Nor  cast  on  Otho's  towers  a  single  look. 

VF. 

But  where  was  he  ?  that  meteor  of  a  night, 
Who  menaced  but  to  disappear  with  light  ? 
Where  was  this  Ezzelia?  who  came  and  went 
To  leave  ho  other  trace  of  his  intent. 
He  left  the  dome  of  Otho  long  ere  morn, 
In  darkness,  yet  so  well  the  path  was  worn 
He  could  not  miss  it ;  near  his  dwelling  lay  ; 
But  there  he  was  not,  and  with  coming  day 
Came  fast  inquiry,  which  unfolded  nought        750 
Except  the  absence  of  the  chief  it  sought. 
A  chamber  tenantless,  a  steed  at  rest, 
His  host  alarmed,  his  murmuring  squires  distressed: 
Their  search  extends  along,  around  the  path, 
In  dread  to  meet  the  marks  of  prowlers'  wrath : 
But  none  are  there,  and  not  a  brake  hath  borne 
Nor  gout  of  blood,  nor  shred  of  mantle  torn  ; 


canto  ii.  LARA,  53 

Nor  fall  nor  struggle  hath  defaced  the  grass, 
Which  still  retains  a  mark  where  murder  was ; 
Nor  dabbling  fingersjileft  to  tell  the  tale,  7G0 

The  bitter  print  of  each  convulsive  nail, 
When  agonized  hands  that  cease  to  guard, 
Wound  in  that  pang  the  smoothness  of  the  sward. 
S  ome  such  had  been,  if  here  a  life  was  reft, 
But  these  were  not ;  and  doubting  hope  is  left  5 
And  strange  suspicion  whispering  Lara's  name, 
j\Tow  daily  mutters  o'er  his  blackened  fame ; 
Then  sudden  silent  when  his  form  appeared, 
Awaits  the  absence  of  the  thing  it  feared 
Again  its  wonted  wondering  to  renew,  770 

And  dye  conjecture  with  a  darker  hue. 

VII. 

Days  roll  along,  and  Otho's  wounds  are  healed, 
But  not  his  pride  ;  and  hate  no  more  concealed ; 
He  was  a  man  of  power,  and  Lara's  foe, 
The  friend  of  all  who  sought  to  work  him  woe, 
And  from  his  country's  justice  now  demands 
Account  of  Ezzelin  at  Lara's  hands. 
Who  else  than  Lara  could  have  cause  to  fear 

His  presence  ?  who  had  made  him  disappear, 

9* 


54  LARA.  canto  ir. 

If  not  the  man  on  whom  his  menaced  charge   780 
Had  sate  too  deeply  were  he  left  at  large? 
The  general  rumour  ignorantly  loud, 
The  mystery  dearest  to  the  curious  crowd ; 
The  seeming  friendlessness  of  him  who  strove 
To  win  no  confidence,  and  wake  no  love  j 
The  sweeping  fierceness  which  his  soul  betray'd, 
The  skill  with  which  he  yielded  his  keen  blade ; 
Where  had  his  armunwarlike  caught  that  art? 
Where  had  that  fierceness  grown  upon  his  heart  ? 
For  it  was  not  the  blind  capricious  rage  790 

A  word  can  kindle  and  a  word  assuage ; 
But  the  deep  working  of  a  soul  unmix'd 
With  aught  of  pity  where  its  wrath  had  fix'd  j 
Such  as  long  power  and  overgorged  success 
Concentrates  into  all  that's  merciless : 
These,  link'd  with  that  desire  which  ever  sways 
Mankind,  the  rather  to  condemn  than  praise, 
'Gainst  Lara  gathering  raised  at  length  a  storm, 
Such  as  himself  might  fear,  and  foes  would  form, 
And  he  must  answer  for  the  absent  head  800 

Of  one  that  haunts  him  still,  alive  or  dead. 


LARA.  56 


VIII. 


Within  that  land  was  many  a  malcontent, 
Who  cursed  the  tyranny  to  which  he  bent ; 
That  soil  full  many  a  wringing  despot  saw, 
Who  worked  his  wantonness  in  form  of  law ; 
Long  war  without  and  frequent  broil  within 
Had  made  a  path  for  blood  and  gia«t  sin, 
That  waited  but  a  signal  to  begin 
New  havoc,  such  as  civil  discord  blends,  809 

Which  knows  no  neuter,  owns  but  foes  or  friends ; 
Fixed  in  his  feudal  fortress  each  was  lord, 
In  word  and  deed  obeyed,  in  soul  abhorr'd. 
Thus  Lara  had  inherited  his  lands, 
And  with  them  pining  hearts  and  sluggish  hands ; 
But  that  long  absence  from  his  native  clime 
Had  left  him  stainless  of  oppression's  crime, 
And  now  diverted  by  his  milder  sway, 
All  dread  by  slow  degrees  had  worn  away; 
The  menials  felt  their  usual  awe  alone,  819 

But  more  for  him  than  them  that  fear  was  grown  ; 
They  deem'd  him  now  unhappy,  though  at  first 
Their  evil  judgment  augured  of  the  worst, 


5G  LARA.  cAsro  ii- 

And  each  long  restless  night  and  silent  mood 
Was  traced  to  sickness,  fed  by  solitude  ; 
And  though  his  lonely  habits  threw  of  late 
Gloom  o'er  his  chamber,  cheerful  was  his  gate ; 
For  thence  the  wretched  ne'er  unsoothed  with- 
drew, 
For  them,  at  least,  his  soul  compassion  knew. 
Cold  to  the  great,  contemptuous  to  the  high, 
The  humble  passed  not  his  unheeding  eye ;      830 
Much  he  would  speak  not,  but  beneath  bis  roof 
They  found  asylum  Oft,  and  ne'er  reproof. 
And  they  who  watched  might  mark  that  day  by 

day, 
Some  new  retainers  gathered'to-his-lway  ; 
But  most  of  late  since  Ezzelin  was  lost 
He  played  the  courteous  lord  and  bounteous  host : 
Perchance  his  strife  with  Othomade  him  dread 
Some  snare  prepared  for  his  obnoxious  head  ; 
Whate'er  his  view,  his  favour  more  obtains 
With  these,  the  people,  than  his  fellow  thanes.  840 
If  this  were  policy,  so  far  'twas  sound, 
The  million  judged  but  of  him  as  they  found ; 
From  him  by  sterner  chiefs  to  exile  driven 
They  but  required  a  shelter,  and  'twas  given. 


caxto  ii.  LARA.  57 

By  him  ho  peasant  mourn'd  his  rifled  cot, 
Aud  scarce  the  Serf  could  murmur  o'er  his  lot ; 
With  him  old  avarice  found  its  hoard  secure, 
With  him  contempt  forbore  to  mock  the  poor ; 
Youth  present  cheer  and  promised  recompense 
Detained,  till  all  too  late  to  part  from  thence :  850 
To  hate  he  offered  with  the  coming  change 
The  deep  reversion  of  delayed  revenge  j 
To  love,  long  baffled  by  the  unequal  match, 
The  well-won  charms  success  was  sure  to  snatch. 
All  now  was  ripe,  he  waits  but  to  proclaim 
That  slavery  nothing  which  was  still  a  name. 
The  moment  came,  the  hour  when  Otho  thought 
Secure  at  last  the  vengeance  which  he  sought : 
His  summons  found  the  destined  criminal 
Begirt  by  thousands  in  his  swarming  hall,        860 
Fresh  from  their  feudal  fetters  newly  riven, 
Defying  earth,  and  confident  of  heaven. 
That  morning  he  had  freed  the  soil-bound  slaves 
Who  dig  no  land  for  tyrants  but  their  graves ! 
Such  is  their  cry — some  watchword  for  the  fight 
Must  vindicate  the  wrong,  and  warp  the  right : 
Religion — freedom — vengeance — what  you  will, 
A  word's  enough  to  raise  mankind  to  kill ; 


58  LARA.  canto  ii. 

Some  factious  phrase  by  cunning  caught  and  spread 

That  guilt  may  reign,  and  wolves  and  worms  be 

fed !  870 


IX. 

Throughout  that  clime  the  feudal  chiefs  had  gain'd 
Such  sway,  their  infant  monarch  hardly  reign'd  ; 
Now  was  the  hour  for  faction's  rebel  growth, 
The  Serfs  contemn'd  the  one,  and  hated  both : 
They  waited  but  a  leader,  and  they  found 
One  to  their  cause  inseparably  bound  ; 
By  circumstance  compell'd  to  plunge  again 
In  self-defence  amidst  the  strife  of  men. 
Cut  off  by  some  mysterious  fate  from  those 
Whom  birth  and  nature  meant  not  for  his  foes,  880 
Had  Lara  from  that  night,  to  him  accurst, 
Prepared  to  meet,  but  not  alone,  the  worst ; 
Some  reason  urged,  whate'er  it  was,  to  shun 
Inquiry  into  deeds  at  distance  done  ; 
By  mingling  with  his  own  the  cause  of  all, 
E'en  if  he  failed,  he  still  delay'd  his  fall. 
The  sullen  calm  that  long  his  bosom  kept, 
The  storm  that  once  had  spent  itself  and  slept, 


canto  n.  LARA.  59 

Roused  by  events  that  seemed  foredoom'd  to  urge 
His  gloomy  fortunes  to  their  utmost  verge,      890 
Burst  forth,  and  made  him  all  he  once  had  been, 
And  is  again ;  he  only  changed  the  scene. 
Light  care  had  he  for  life,  and  less  for  fame, 
But  not  less  fitted  for  the  desperate  game : 
He  deem'd  lrimself  mark'd  out  for  other's  hate, 
And  mock'd  at  ruin  so  they  shared  his  fate. 
What  cared  he  for  the  freedom  of  the  crowd  ? 
He  raised  the  humble  but  to  bend  the  proud. 
He  had  hoped  quiet  in  his  sullen  lair, 
But  man  and  destiny  beset  him  there :  900 

Inured  to  hunters  he  was  found  at  bay. 
And  they  must  kill,  they  cannot  snare  the  prey. 
Stern,  unambitious,  silent,  he  had  been 
Henceforth  a  calm  spectator  of  life's  scene  j 
But  dragg'd  again  upon  the  arena,  stood 
A  leader  not  unequal  to  the  feud ; 
In  voice — mien — gesture — savage  nature  spokej 
And  from  his  eye  the  gladiator  broke, 

X. 

What  boots  the  oft-repeated  tale  of  strife, 

The  feast  of  vultures,  and  the  waste  of  life      910 


60  LARA.  canto  it. 

The  varying  fortune  of  each  separate  field, 

The  fierce  that  vanquish,  and  the  faint  that  yield  ? 

The  smoking  ruin,  and  the  crumbled  wall.? 

In  this  the  struggle  was  the  same  with  all ; 

Save  that  distempered  passions  lent  their  force 

In  bitterness  that  banished  all  remorse. 

None  sued,  for  Mercy  knew  her  cry  was  vain, 

The  captive  died  upon  the  battle-slain : 

In  either  cause  one  rage  alone  possessed 

The  empire  of  the  alternate  victor's  breast ;     920 

And  they  that  smote  for  freedom  or  for  sway 

Deem'd  few  were  slain,  while  more  remain'd  to 

slay. 
It  was  too  late  to  check  the  wasting  brand, 
And  Desolation  reaped  the  famished  land  ; 
The  torch  was  lighted,  and  the  flame  was  spread, 
And  Carnage  smiled  upon  her  daily  dead. 

XI. 

Fresh  with  the  nerve  the  new-bom  impulse  strung, 
The  first  success  to  Lara's  numbers  clung ; 
But  that  vain  victory  hath  ruined  all, 
They  form  no  longer  to  their  leader's  call ;      930 


«anto  ii.  LARA.  61 

In  blind  confusion  on  the  foe  they  press, 
And  think  to  snatch  is  to  secure  success* 
The  lust  of  booty,  and  the  thirst  of  hate 
Lure  on  the  broken  brigands  to  their  fate ; 
In  vain  he  doth  whate'er  a  chief  may  do 
To  check  the  headlong  fury  of  that  crew ; 
In  vain  their  stubborn  ardour  he  would  tame, 
The  hand  that  kindles  cannot  quench  the  flame; 
The  wary  foe  alone  hath  turn'd  their  mood, 
And  shown  their  rashness  to  that  erring  brood :  940 
The  feign'd  retreat,  the  nightly  ambuscade, 
The  daily  harass,  and  the  fight  delayed, 
The  long  privation  of  the  hoped  supply, 
The  tentless  rest  beneath  the  humid  sky, 
The  stubborn  wall  that  mocks  the  leaguer's  art. 
And  palls  the  patience  of  his  baffled  heart, 
Of  these  they  had  not  deem'd  :  the  battle»day 
They  could  encounter  as  a  veteran  may ; 
But  more  preferred  the  fury  of  the  strife, 
"And  present  death  to  hourly  suffering  life :       95(5 
And  famine  wrings,  and  fever  sweeps  away 
His  numbers  melting  fast  from  their  array; 
Intemperate  triumph  fades  to  diseOntent, 
And  Lara's  soul  alone  seems  still  unbent 
3 


62  LARA,  canto  u. 

But  few  remain  to  aid  his  voice  and  hand, 
And  thousands  dwindled  to  a  scanty  band : 
Desperate,  though  few,  the  last  and  best  remained 
To  moum  the  discipline  they  late  disdain'd. 
One  hope  survives,  the  frontier  is  not  far, 
And  thence  they  may  escape  from  native  war ;  968 
And  bear  within  them  to  the  neighbouring  state 
An  exile's  sorrows,  or  an  outlaw's  hate : 
Hard  is  the  task  their  father  land  to  quit* 
But  harder  still  to  perish  or  submit. 

xn. 

It  is  resolved — they  march— consenting  NigM 
Guides  with  her  star  their  dim  and  torchless  flight ; 
Already  they  perceive  its  tranquil  beam 
Sleep  on  the  surface  of  the  barrier  stream  j 
Already  they  descry — Is  yon  the  bank  ? 
Away !  'tis  lined  with  many  a  hostile  rank.     979 
Return  or  fly ! — What  gutters  in  the  rear  ? 
'Tis  Otho's  banner— the  pursuer's  spear ! 
Are  those  the  shepherds'  fires  upon  the  height  P 
Alas !  they  blaze  too  widely  for  the  flight : 
Cut  off  from  hope,  and  compass'd  in  the  toil, 
Lees  blood  perchance  hath  bought  a  rieher  spoiH 


LARA,  63 


XIII. 

A  moment's  pause,  'tis  but  to  breathe  their  band, 
Or  shall  they  onward  press,  or  here  withstand  ? 
It  matters  little — if  they  charge  the  foes 
Who  by  the  border-stream  their  march  oppose,  980 
Some  few,  perchance,  may  break  and  pass  the  lin£, 
However  link'd  to  baffle  such  design. 
"  The  charge  be  ours !  to  wait  for  their  assault 
"  Were  fate  well  worthy  of  a  coward's  halt." 
Forth  flies  each  sabre,  reined  is  every  steed, 
And  the  next  word  shall  scarce  outstrip  the  deed  j 
In  the  next  tone  of  Lara's  gathering  breath 
How  many  shall  but  hear  the  voice  of  death ! 

XIV. 

His  blade  is  bared,  in  him  there  is  an  air 

As  deep,  but  far  too  tranquil  for  despair ;         990 

A  something  of  indifference  more  than  then 

Becomes  the  bravest  if  they  feel  for  men — 

He  turned  his  eye  on  Kaled,  ever  near, 

.\jid  still  too  faithful  to  betray  one  fear  j- 


64  LARA.  canto  n. 

Perchance  'twas  but  the  moon's  dim  twilight  threw 
Along  his  aspect  an  unwonted  hue 
Of  mournful  paleness,  whose  deep  tint  expressed 
The  truth,  and  not  the  terrour  of  his  breast. 
This  Lara  marked,  and  laid  his  hand  on  his : 
It  trembled  not  in  such  an  hour  as  this ;         100ft 
His  lip  was  silent,  scarcely  beat  his  heart, 
His  eye  alone  proclaim'd,  "  We  will  not  part ! 
<*  Thy  band  may  perish,  or  thy  friends  may  flee* 
•'  Farewell  to  life,  but  not  adieu  to  thee  !'J 

The  word  hath  passed  his  lips,  and  onward  driven 
Pours  the  link'd  band  through  ranks  asunder  riven : 
Well  has  each  steed  obeyed  the  armed  heel, 
And  flash  the  scimitars,  and  rings  the  steel; 
Outnumber^  not  outbrav'd,  they  still  oppose 
Despair  to  daring,  and  a  front  to  foes ;  1010- 

And  blood  is  mingled  with  the  dashing  stream,. 
Which  runs  all  redly  till  the  morning  beam. 

Commanding,  aiding,  animating  all, 

Where  foe  appear'd  to  press,  or  friend  to  felij. 


canto  ».  LARA.  65 

Cheers  Lara's  voice,  and  waves  or  strikes  his  steel, 
Inspiring  hope,  himself  had  ceased  to  feel. 
None  fled,  for  well  they  knew  that  flight  were  vain, 
But  those  that  waver  turn  to  smite  again 
While  yet  they  find  the  firmest  of  the  foe 
Recoil  before  their  leader's  look  and  blow  j     1021 
Now  girt  with  numbers,  now  almost  alone, 
He  foils  their  ranks,  or  reunites  his  own  j 
Himself  he  spared  not — once  they  seemed  to  fly — 
Now  was  the  time,  he  waved  his  hand  on  high, 
And  shook — why  sudden  droops  that  plumed  crest  ? 
The  shaft  is  sped— the  arrow's  in  his  breast ! 
That  fatal  gesture  left  the  unguarded  side, 
And  Death  hath  stricken  down  yon  arm  of  pride. 
The  word  of  triumph  fainted  from  his  tongue ; 
That  hand,  so  raised,  how  droopingly  it  hung !  1030 
But  yet  the  sword  instinctively  retains, 
Though  from  its  fellow  shrink  the  falling  reins ; 
These  Kaled  snatches :  dizzy  with  the  blow, 
And  senseless  bending  o'er  his  saddle-bow, 
Perceives  not  Lara  that  his  anxious  page 
Beguiles  his  charger  from  the  combat's  rage: 
Meantime  his  followers  charge,  and[charge  again; 
Too  mix'd  the  slayers  now  to  heed  the  slain ! 


66  LARA.  cajjto  u. 

XVI. 

Day  glimmers  on  the  dying  and  the  dead, 
The  cloven  cuirass,  and  the  helmless  head ;     1040 
The  war-horse  masterless  is  on  the  earth, 
And  that  last  gasp  hath  burst  his  bloody  girth ; 
And  near  yet  quivering  with  what  life  remain'd, 
The  heel  that  urg'd  him  and  the  hand  that  rein'd  j 
And  some  too  near  that  rolling  torrent  lie, 
Whose  waters  mock  the  lip  of  those  that  die ; 
That  panting  thirst  which  scorches  in  the  breafir 
Of  those  that  die  the  soldier's  fiery  death, 
In  vain  impels  the  burning  mouth  to  crave 
One  drop — the  last — to  cool  it  for  the  grave^  1050 
With  feeble  and  convulsive  effort  swept 
Their  limbs  along  the  crimson'd  turf  have  crept; 
The  faint  remains  of  life  such  struggles  waste, 
But  yet  they  reach  the  stream,  and  bend  to  taste  t 
They  feel  its  freshness,  and  almost  partake- 
Why  pause  ? — No  further  thirst  have  they  t» 


It  is  unquench'd,  and  yet  they  feel  it  not; 
It  was  an  agony — but  now  forgot ! 


LARA.  67 


XVII. 


Beneath  a  lime,  remoter  from  the  scene^ 

Where  but  for  him  that  strife  had  never  been,  1060 

A  breathing  but  devoted  warrior  lay  : 

»Twas  Lara,  bleeding  fast  from  life  away. 

His  follower  once,  and  now  his  only  guide, 

Kneels  Kaled  watchful  o'er  his  welling  side, 

And  with  his  scarf  would  staunch  the  tides  that 

rush 
With  each  convulsion  in  a  blacker  gush  ■ 
And  then  as  his  faint  breathing  waxes  low 
In  feebler,  not  less  fatal  tricklings  flow: 
He  scarce  can  speak,  but  motions  him  'tis  vain 
And  merely  adds  another  throb  to  pain.  1 070 

He  clasps  the  hand  that  pang  which  would  assuage, 
And  sadly  smiles  his  thanks  to  that  dark  page 
Who  nothing  fears,  nor  feels,  nor  heeds,  nor  sees,. 
Save  that  damp  brow  which  rests  upon  his  knees  • 
Save  that  pale  aspect,  where  the  eye,  though  dini, 
Held  all  the  light  that  shone  on  earth  foe  bjnk 


ft  LARA.  »anto  n. 

XVIII. 

The  fce  arrives,  who  long  had  search'd  the  field, 
Their  triumph  nought  till  Lara  too  should  yield ; 
They  would  remove  him,  but  they  see  'twere  vain, 
And  he  regards  them  with  a  calm  disdain,       1030 
That  rose  to  reconcile  him  with  his  fate, 
And  that  escape  to  death  from  living  hate : 
And  Otho  comes,  and  leaping  from  his  steed, 
Looks  on  the  bleeding  foe  that  made  him  bleed, 
And  questions  of  his  state;  he  answers  not, 
Scarce  glances  on  him  as  on  one  forgot, 
And  turns  to  Kaled  :— each  remaining  word, 
They  understood  not,  if  distinctly  heard ; 
His  dying  tones  are  in  that  other  tongue,        1089 
To  which  some  strange  remembrance  wildly  clung. 
They  spake  of  other  scenes,'  but  what— is  known 
To  Kaled,  whom  their  meaning  reach'd  alone; 
And  he  replied,  though  faintly,  to  their  sound, 
While  gaz'd  the  rest  in  dumb  amazement  round : 
They  seem'd  even  then— that  twain— unto  the  last 
To  half  forget  the  present  in  the  past; 
To  share  between  themselves  some  separate  fate. 
Whose  darkness  none  beside  should  penetrate.        , 


canto  ii.  LARA.  69 

XIX. 

Their  words  though  faint  were  many — from  the 

tone  1099 

Their  import  those  who  heard  could  judge  alone ; 

From  this,  you  might  have  deem'd  young  Kaled's 

death 
More  near  than  Lara's  by  his  voice  and  breath, 
So  sad,  so  deep,  and  hesitating  broke 
The  accents  his  scarce-moving  pale  lips  spoke  j 
But  Lara's  voice  though  low,  at  first  was  clear 
And  calm,  till  murmuring  death  gasp'd  hoarsely 

near: 
But  from  his  visage  little  could  we  guess, 
So  unrepentant,  dark,  and  passionless, 
Save  that  when  struggling  nearer  to  his  last, 
Upon  that  page  his  eye  was  kindly  cast;         1110 
And  once  as  Kaled's  answering  accents  ceas'd, 
Rose  Lara's  hand,  and  pointed  to  the  East : 
Whether  (as  then  the  breaking  sun  from  high 
Roll'd  back  the  clouds)  the  morrow  caught  his  eye. 
Or  that  'twas  chance,  or  some  remember'd  scene 
That  rais'd  his  arm  to  point  where  such  had  been, 
Scarce  Kaled  seem'd  to  know,  but  turn'd  away. 


70  LARA.  canto  it. 

As  if  his  heart  abhorred  that  coming  day, 

And  shrunk  his  glance  before  that  morning  light 

To  look  on  Lara's  brow — where  all  grew  night.  1 120 

Yet  sense  seem'd  left,  though  better  were  its  loss; 

For  when  one  near  display 'd  the  absolving  cross, 

And  proffered  to  his  touch  the  holy  bead 

Of  which  his  parting  soul  might  own  the  need, 

Helook'dupon  it  with  an  eye  profane, 

And  smiled — Heaven  pardon  !  if  'twere  with  dig-= 

dain; 
And  Kaled  though  he  spoke  not,  nor  withdrew 
From  Lara's  face  his  fix'd  despairing  view, 
With  brow  repulsive,  and  with  gesture  swift, 
Flung  back  the  hand   which  held   the  sacred 

gift,  1130 

As  if  such  but  disturbed  the  expiring  man, 
Nor  seem'd  to  know  his  life  but  then  began, 
The  life  immortal,  infinite,  secure, 
To  all  for  whom  that  cross  hath  made  it  sure  I 

XX 

But,  gasping  heav'd  the  breath  that  Lara  drew, 
And  dull  the  film  along  his  dim  eye  grew  j 


CANTO  IT.  LARA.  T\r 

His  limbs  stretch'd  fluttering,  and  his  head  droop'd 

o'er 
The  weak  yet  still  untiring  knee  that  bore ; 
He  press'd  the  hand  he  held  upon  his  heart — 
It  beats  no  more,  but  Kaled  will  not  part        1 140 
With  the  cold  grasp,  but  feels,  and  feels  in  vain, 
Tor  that  faint  throb  which  answers  not  again. 
"  It  beats !"— Away,  thou  dreamer  !  he  is  gone^- 
It  once  was  Lara  which  thou  look'st  upon. 

XXI. 

fie  gaz'd,  as  if  not  yet  had  pass'd  away 
The  haughty  spirit  of  that  humble  clay; 
And  those  around  have  rous'd  him  from  his  trance') 
But  cannot  tear  from  thence  his  fixed  glance  ; 
And  when  in  raising  him  from  where  he  bore 
Within  hi3  arms  the  form  that  felt  no  more,    115® 
He  saw  the  head  his  breast  would  still  sustain, 
Roll  down  like  earth  to  earth  upon  the  plain; 
He  did  not  dash  himself  thereby,  nor  tear 
The  glossy  tendrils  of  his  raven  hair, 
But  strove  to  stand  and  gaze,  but  reel'd  and  fell, 
Scarce  breathing  more  than  that  he  loy'd  so  well, 


72  LARA.  canto  u. 

Than  that  he  lov'd !  Oh !  never  yet  beneath 
The  breast  of  man  such  trusty  love  may  breathe  J 
That  trying  moment  hath  at  once  reveal'd 
The  secret  long  and  yet  but  half-conceal'd ;    1 16d 
In  baring  to  revive  that  lifeless  breast, 
Its  grief  seem'd  ended,  but  the  sex  contest ; 
And  life  return'd,  and  Kaled  felt  no  shame — 
What  now  to  her  was  Womanhood  or  Fame  ?■ 

XXII. 

And  Lara  sleeps  not  where  his  fathers  sleep, 
But  where  he  died  his  grave  was  dug  as  deep ; 
Nor  is  his  mortal  slumber  less  profound, 
Though  priest  nor  bless'd,  nor  marble  deck'd  the 

mound ; 
And  he  was  mourn'd  by  one  whose  quiet  grief 
Less  loud,  outlasts  a  people's  for  their  chief.  1170 
Vain  was  all  question  ask'd  her  of  the  past, 
And  vain  e'en  menace — silent  to  the  last;- 
She  told  nor  whence  nor  why  she  left  behind 
Her  all  for  one  who  seem'd  but  lktle  kiHd.. 
i  Why  did  she  love  him?  Curious  fool !— be  still-*- 
Is  human  love  the  growth  of  human  will  ? 


canto  «.  LARA.  7$ 

To  her  he  might  be  gentleness  ;  the  stern 
Have  deeper  thoughts  than  your  dull  eyes  discern, 
And  when  they  love,  your  smilers  guess  not  how 
Beats  the  strong  heart,  though  less  the  lips  avow. 
They  were  not  common  links  that  form'd  the  chain 
That  bound  to  Lara  Kaled's  heart  and  brain ;  1182 
But  that  wild  tale  she  brook'd  not  to  unfold, 
And  seal'd  is  now  each  lip  that  could  have  told. 

XXIII. 

They  laid  him  in  the  earth,  and  on  his  breast, 
Besides  the  wound  that  sent  his  soul  to  rest, 
They  found  the  scatter'd  dints  of  many  a  scar 
Which  were  not  planted  there  in  recent  war ; 
Where'er  had  pass'd  his  summer  years  of  life 
It  seems  they  vanish'd  in  a  land  of  strife  ;      1190 
But  all  unknown  his  glory  or  his  guilt, 
These  only  told  that  somewhere  blood  was  spilt, 
And  Ezzelin,  who  might  have  spoke  the  past, 
Return'd  no  more— that  night  appear'd  his  last, 


74  LARA.  canto  it. 


XXIV. 

Upon  that  night  (a  peasant's  is  the  tale) 
A  Serf  thatcross'd  the  intervening  vale, 
When  Cynthia's  light  almost  gave  way  to  morn, 
And  nearly  veil'd  in  mist  her  waning  horn ; 
A  S.erf,  that  rose  betimes  to  thread  the  wood,  1199 
And  hew  the  bough  that  bought  his  children's  food, 
Pass'd  by  the  river  that  divides  the  plain 
Of  Olho's  lands  and  Lara's  broad  domain : 
He  heard  a  tramp — a  horse  and  horseman  broke 
From  out  the  wood — before  him  was  a  cloak 
Wrapt  round  some  burthen  at  his  saddle-bow^ 
Bent  was  his  head,  and  hidden  was  his  brow. 
Rous'd  by  the  sudden  sight  at  such  a  time, 
And  some  foreboding  that  it  might  be  crime, 
Himself  unheeded  watch'd  the  stranger's  course, 
Who  reach'd  the  river,  bounded  from  his  horse, 
And  lifting  thence  the  burthen  which  he  bore,  1211 
Heav'd  up  the  bank,  and  dash'd  it  from  the  shore, 
Then  paused,  and  look'd,  and  turn'd,  and  seem'd 

to  watch, 
And  still  another  hurried  glance  would  snatch, 


canto  ii.  LARA-  ?§ 

And  follow  with  his  step  the  stream  that  flow'd, 
As  if  even  yet  too  much  its  surface  show'd : 
At  once  he  started,  stoop'd,  around  him  stfown 
The  winter  floods  had  scatter'd  heaps  of  stone ; 
Of  these  the  heaviest  thence  he  gathered  there,  12  IS 
And  slung  them  with  a  more  than  common  care. 
Mean  time  the  Serf  had  crept  to  where  unseen 
Himself  might  safely  mark  what  this  might  mean.; 
He  caught  a  glimpse,  as  of  a  floating  breast, 
And  something  glittered  starlike  on  the  vest, 
But  ere  he  well  could  mark  the  buoyant  trunk;, 
A  massy  fragment  smote  it,  and  it  sunk  : 
It  rose  again  but  indistinct  to  view, 
And  left  the  waters  of  a  purple  hue, 
Then  deeply  disappear'd :  the  horseman  gaz'd 
Till  ebbed  the  latest  eddy  it  had  rais'd  ;         12S& 
Then  turning,  vaulted  on  his  pawing  steed, 
And  instant  spurr'd  him  into  panting  speed. 
His  face  was  mask'd— the  features  of  the  dead,. 
If  dead  it  were,  escaped  the  observer's  dread  j 
But  if  in  sooth  a  star  its  bosom  bore, 
Such  is  the  badge  that  knighthood  ever  wofe, 
And  such  'tis  known  Sir  Ezzelin  had  worn 
Upon  the  night  that  led  to  such  a  morn. 


76  liARA.  «anto  ii. 

If  thus  he  perish'd,  Heaven  receive' his  soul ! 
His  undiscovered  limbs  to  ocean  roll ;  1249 

And  charity  upon  the  hope  would  dwell 
It  was  not  Lara's  hand  by  which  he  fell> 

XXV. 

And  Kaled — Lara — Ezzelin,  are  gone, 
Alike  without  their  monumental  stone  ! 
The  first,  all  efforts  vainly  strove  to  wean 
From  lingering  where  her  chieftain's  blood  had 

been; 
Grief  had  so  tam'd  a  spirit  once  too  proud, 
Her  tears  were  few,  her  wailing  never  loud ; 
But  furious  would  you  tear  her  from  the  spot 
Where  yet  she  scarce  believ'd  that  he  was  not,  1250 
Her  eye  shot  forth  with  all  the  living  fire 
That  haunts  the  tigress  in  her  whelpless  ire; 
But  left  to  waste  her  weary  moments  there, 
She  talk'd  all  idly  unto  shapes  of  air, 
•Such  as  the  busy  brain  of  Sorrow  paints, 
And  woos  to  listen  to  her  fond  complaints ; 
And  she  would  sit  beneath  the  very  tree 
Where  lay  his  drooping  head  upon  her  knee  - 


canto  ir.  LARA.  77 

And  in  that  posture  where  she  saw  him  fall, 
His  words,  his  looks,  his  dying  grasp  recall ;    1260 
And  she  had  shorn,  but  sav'd  her  raven  hair, 
And  oft  would  snatch  it  from  her  bosom  there, 
And  fold,  and  press  it  gcJy  to  the  ground, 
As  if  she  staunch'd  anew  some  phantom's  wound. 
Herself  would  question,  and  for  him  reply ; 
Then  rising,  start,  and  beckon  him  to  fly 
From  some  imagin'd  spectre  in  pursuit ; 
Then  seat  her  down  upon  some  linden's  root, 
And  hide  her  visage  with  her  meagre  hand, 
Or  trace  strange  characters  along  the  sand —  1270 
This  could  not  last— she  lies  by  him  she  lov'd  ; 
Her  tale  untold— her  truth  too  dearly  prov'd. 


END  OF   LARA. 


JACQUELINE, 


A  TALE. 


PART  I. 


When  Spring  bursts  forth  in  blossoms  through  the  Yale} 
And  her  wild  music  triumphs  on  the  gale, 
Oft  with  my  book  I  muse  from  stile  to  stile  ; 
Oft  in  my  porch  the  listless  noon  beguile. 
Framing  loose  numbers- 


JACQUELINE. 


i.  " 

'Twas  Autumn;  thro'  Provence  had  ceased 

The  vintage,  and  the  vintage-feast. 

The  sun  had  set  behind  the  hill, 

The  moon  was  up,  and  all  was  still, 

And  from  the  Convent's  neighbouring  tower 

The  clock  had  tolled  the  midnight  hour, 

When  Jacqueline  came  forth  alone, 

Her  kerchief  o'er  her  tresses  thrown; 

A  guilty  thing  and  full  of  fears, 

Yet  ah,  how  lovely  in  her  tears !  10 

She  starts,  and  what  has  caught  her  eye  ?  , 

What—but  her  shadow  gliding  by  ? 


82  JACQUELINE. 

She  stops,  she  pants ;  with  lips  apart 
She  listens — to  her  beating  heart ! 
Then,  through  the  scanty  orchard  stealing, 
The  clustering  boughs  her  track  concealing, 
She  flies,  nor  casts  a  thought  behind, 
But  gives  her  terrours  to  the  wind; 
Flies  from  her  home,  the  humble  sphere 
Of  all  her  joys  and  sorrows  here, 
Her  father's  house  of  mountain-stone, 
And  by  a  mountain-vine  o'ergrown. 
At  such  an  hour  in  such  a  night 
So  calm,  so  clear,  so  heavenly  bright, 
Who  would  have  seen  and  not  confessed 
It  looked  as  all  within  were  blest  ? 
What  will  not  woman,  when  she  loves  ? 
Yet  lost,  alas,  who  can  restore  her  ?— 
She  lifts  the  latch,  the  wicket  moves; 
And  now  the  world  is  all  before  her. 

Up  rose  St.  Pierre,  when  morning  shone ; 
— And  Jacqueline,  his  child,  was  gone ! 
Oh  what  the  madd'ning  thought  that  came  ? 
Dishonour  coupled  with  his  name  ! 
By  Conde  at  Rocroy  he  stood ; 
By  Turenne,  when  the  Rhine  ran  blood, 


JACQUELINE.  83 

Two  banners  of  Castile  he  gave 

Aloft  in  Notre  Dame  to  wave; 

Nor  did  thy  cross,  St.  Louis,  rest 

Upon  a  purer,  nobler  breast.  40 

He  slung  his  old  sword  by  his  side, 

And  snatched  his  staff  and  rushed  to  save ; 

Then  sunk — and  on  his  threshold  cried 

"  Oh  lay  me  in  my  grave ! 

"  — Constance !  Claudine  !  where  were  ye  then  ? 

"  But  stand  not  there.     Away  !  away  ! 

"  Thou,  Frederic,  by  thy  father  stay. 

"  Though  old,  and  now  forgot  of  men, 

"  Both  must  not  leave  him  in  a  day." 

Then,  and  he  shook  his  hoary  head,  50 

"  Unhappy  in  thy  youth  !"  he  said. 

"  Call  as  thou  wilt,  thou  call'st  in  vain ; 

"  No  voice  sends  back  thy  name  again. 

"  To  mourn  is  all  thou  hast  to  do; 

f  Thy  play-mate  lost,  and  teacher  too." 

And  who  but  she  could  soothe  the  boy. 
Or  turn  his  tears  to  tears  of  joy  ? 
Long  had  she  kissed  him  as  he  slept, 
Long  o'er  his  pillow  hung  and  wept; 


84  JACQUELINE. 

And,  as  she  passed  her  father's  door,  60 

She  stood  as  she  would  stir  no  more. 

But  she  is  gone,  and  gone  for  ever  ! 

No,  never  shall  they  clasp  her— never. 

They  sit  and  listen  to  their  fears; 

And  he,  who  through  the  breach  had   ed 

Over  the  dying  and  the  dead, 

Shakes  if  a  cricket's  cry  he  hears ! 

Oh  !  she  was  good  as  she  was  fair. 
None — none  on  earth  above  her  ! 
As  pure  in  thought  as  angels  are,  70 

To  know  her  was  to  love  her. 
AYhen  little,  and  her  eyes,  her  voice, 
Her  every  gesture  said  "  rejoice," 
Her  coming  was  a  gladness ; 
And,  as  she  grew,  her  modest  grace, 
Her  down-cast  look  'twas  heav'n  to  trace, 
When,  shading  with  her  hand  her  face, 
She  half  inclined  to  sadness. 
Her  voice,  whate'er  she  said,  enchanted  ; 
Like  music  to  the  heart  it  went.  80 

And  her  dark  eyes— how  eloquent ! 
Ask  what  they  would,  'twas  granted. 


JACQUELINE.  8S 

Her  father  loved  her  as  his  lame ; 

' — And  Bayard's  self  had  done  the  same  ! 

Soon  as  the  sun  the  glittering  pane 
On  the  red  floor  in  diamonds  threw, 
His  songs  she  sung  and  sung  again, 
Till  the  last  light  withdrew. 
Every  day,  and  all  day  long, 
He  mused  or  slumbered  to  a  song.  90 

But  she  is  dead  to  him,  to  all ! 
Her  lute  hangs  silent  on  the  wall ; 
And  on  the  stairs,  and  at  the  door 
Her  fairy-step  is  heard  no  more ! 
At  every  meal  an  empty  chair 
Tells  him  that  she  is  not  there ; 
She,  who  would  lead  him  where  he  went, 
Charm  with  her  converse  while  he  leant  j 
Or  hovering  every  wish  prevent ; 
At  eve  light  up  the  chimney-nook,  100 

Lay  there  his  glass  within  his  book ; 
And  that  small  chest  of  curious  mould, 
(Queen  Mab's,  perchance,  in  days  of  old,) 
Tusk  of  elephant  and  gold ; 
Which,  when  a  tale  is  long,  dispenses 
Its  fragrant  dust  to  drowsy  senses. 


86  JACQUELINE. 

In  her  who  mourned  not,  when  they  missed  her, 

The  old  a  chikC  the  young  a  sister  ? 

No  more  the  orphan  runs  to  take 

From  her  loved  hand  the  barley-cake.  HO 

No  more  the  matron  in  the  school 

Expects  her  in  the  hour  of  rule, 

To  sit  amid  the  elfin  brood, 

Praising  the  busy  and  the  good. 

The  widow  trims  her  hearth  in  vain. 

She  comes  not— nor  will  come  again; 

Not  now,  his  little  lesson  done, 

With  Frederic  blowing  bubbles  in  the  sun ; 

Nor  spinning  by  the  fountain  side, 

Some  story  of  the  days  of  old,  120 

Barbe  Bleue  or  Chaperon  Rouge  half-told 

To  him  who  would  not  be  denied : 

Not  now,  to  while  an  hour  away, 

Gone  to  the  falls  in  Valombre, 

Where  'tis  night  at  noon  of  day; 

Nor  wandering  up  and  down  the  wood, 

To  all  but  her  a  solitude, 

Where  once  a  wild  deer,  wild  no  more, 

Her  chaplet  on  his  antlers  wore, 

And  at  her  bidding  stood.  *30 


JACQUELINE.  87 


PART  II. 


The  day  was  in  the  golden  west ; 

And,  curtained  close  by  leaf  and  flower, 

The  doves  had  cooed  themselves  to  rest 

In  Jacqueline's  deserted  bower ; 

The  doves— that  still  would  at  her  casement  peck, 

And  in  her  walks  had  ever  fluttered  round 

With  purple  feet  and  shining  neck, 

True  as  the  echo  to  the  sound. 

That  casement,  underneath  the  trees, 

Half  open  to  the  western  breeze,  148 

Looked  down,  enchanting  Garonnelle, 

Thy  Wild  and  mulberry-shaded  dell, 

Round  which  the  Alps  of  Piedmont  rose, 

The  blush  of  sunset  on  their  snows : 

While,  blithe  as  lark  on  summer-morn, 

When  green  and  yellow  waves  the  corn,x 


88  JACQUELINE. 

When  harebells  blow  in  every  grove, 

And  thrushes  sing  "  I  love  !  I  love !" 

Within  (so  soon  the  early  rain 

Scatters,  and  'tis  fair  again ;  150 

Though  many  a  drop  may  yet  be  seen 

To  tell  us  where  a  cloud  has  been) 

Within  lay  Frederic,  o'er  and  o'er 

Building  castles  on  the  floor, 

And  feigning,  as  they  grew  in  size, 

JNrew  troubles  and  new  dangers ; 

With  dimpled  cheeks  and  laughing  eyes, 

As  he  and  fear  were  strangers. 

St.  Pierre  sate  by,  nor  saw  nor  smiled. 
His  eyes  were  on  his  lov'd  Montaigne ;  1G0 

But  every  leaf  was  turned  in  vain. 
Then  in  that  hour  remorse  he  felt, 
And  his  heart  told  him  he  had  dealt 
Unkindly  with  his  child. 
I A  father  may  awhile  refuse ; 
But  who  can  for  another  choose  ? 
When  her  young  blushes  had  revealed 
The  secret  from  herself  concealed, 


JACQUELINE.  89 

Why  promise  what  her  tears  denied, 

That  she  should  be  De  Courcy's  bride  ?  17# 

— Wouldst  thou,  presumptuous  as  thou  art, 

O'er  Nature  play  the  tyrant's  part, 

And  with  the  hand  compel  the  heart  ? 

Oh  rather,  rather  hope  to  bind 

The  ocean-wave,  the  mountain-wind ; 

Or  fix  thy  foot  upon  the  ground 

To  stop  the  planet  rolling  round.  | 

The  light  was  on  his  face ;  and  there 
You  might  have  seen  the  passions  driv'n — 
Resentment,  Pity,  Hope,  Despair —  180 

Like  clouds  across  the  face  of  Heav'n. 
Now  he  sighed  heavily ;  and  now, 
His  hand  withdrawing  from  his  brow, 
He  shut  the  volume  with  a  frown, 
To  walk  his  troubled  spirit  down  : 
—When  Manchon,  that  had  snuffed  the  ground, 
And  sought  and  sought,  but  never  found, 
Leapt  up  and  to  the  casement  flew, 
And  looked  and  harked  and  vanished  through. 
"  'Tis  Jacqueline  !  'tis  Jacqueline  !"  190 

Her  little  brother  laughing  cried. 


»0  JACQUELINE. 

"  I  know  her  by  her  kirtle  green, 

**  She  comes  along  the  mountain-side  j 

"  Now  turning  by  the  traveller's  seat, — 

"  Now  resting  in  the  hermit's  cave, — 

a  Now  kneeling,  where  the  pathways  meet, 

"  To  the  cross  on  the  stranger's  grave. 

"  And,  by  the  soldier's  cloak,  I  know 

"  (There,  there  along  the  ridge  they  go) 

"  D'Arcy,  the  gentle  and  the  brave  !  200 

"  Look  up — why  will  you  not  ?"  he  cries, 

His  rosy  hands  before  his  eyes ; 

For  on  that  incense-breathing  eve 

The  sun  shone  out,  as  loth  to  leave. 

"  See — to  the  rugged  rock  she  clings  ! 

"  She  calls,  she  faints,  and  D'Arcy  springs ; 

"  D'Arcy  so  dear  to  us,  to  all ; 

"  Who,  for  you  told  me  on  your  knee, 

**  When  in  the  fight  he  saw  you  fall, 

"  Saved  you  for  Jacqueline  and  me !"  210 

And  true  it  was !  The  mournful  night 
That  on  the  village-green  they  parted, 
The  lilied  banners  streaming  bright 
O'er  maids  and  mothers  broken-hearted  j 


JACQUELINE.  91 

The  drum — it  drowned  the  last  adieu, 

When  D'Arcy  from  the  crowd  she  drew. 

"  One  charge  I  have,  and  one  alone, 

"  Nor  that  refuse  to  take, 

M  My  father — if  not  for  his  own, 

"  Oh  for  his  daughter's  sake  !" 

Inly  he  vowed — 'twas  all  he  could  ;  220 

And  went  and  sealed  it  with  his  blood. 

Nor  can  ye  wonder.     When  a  child, 
And  in  her  playfulness  she  smiled, 
Up  many  a  ladder-path*  he  guided 
Where  meteor-like  the  chamois  glided, 
Through  many  a  misty  grove. 
They  loved — but  under  Friendship's  name ; 
And  Reason,  Virtue  fanned  the  flame, 
Till  in  their  houses  Discord  came, 
And  'twas  a  crime  to  love.  230 

Then  what,  alas,  was  Jacqueline  to  do  ? 
Her  father's  angry  hours  she  knew, 
And  when  to  soothe,  and  when  persuade ; 
But  now  her  path  De  Courcy  crossed, 

*  Called  in  the  language  of  the  country  Pasik'PEchelk. 


92  JACQUELINE. 

Led  by  bis  falcon  through  the  glade- 
He  turned,  beheld,  admired  the  maid ; 
And  all  her  little  arts  were  lost ! 
De  Courcy,  lord  of  Argentiere ! 
Thy  poverty,  thy  pride,  St.  Pierre, 
Thy  thirst  for  vengeance  sought  the  snare.       240 
The  day  was  named,  the  guests  invited ; 
The  bridegroom,  at  the  gate,  alighted; 
When  up  the  windings  of  the  dell 
A  pastoral  pipe  was  heard  to  swell, 
And  lo,  an  humble  Piedmontese, 
Whose  music  might  a  lady  please, 
This  message  through  the  lattice  bore, 
(She  listened,  and  her  trembling  frame 
Told  her  at  once  from  whom  it  came) 
"  O  let  us  fly— to  part  no  more !"  250 


JACQUELINE.  93 


PART  III. 

That  morn  ('twas  inSte.  Julienne's  cell, 

As  at  Ste.  Julienne's  sacred  well 

Their  dream  of  bliss  began) 

That  morn,  ere  many  a  star  was  set, 

Their  hands  had  on  the  altar  met 

Before  the  holy  man. 

— And  now  the  village  gleams  at  last ; 

The  woods,  the  golden  meadows  passed, 

Where,  when,  Toulouse,  thy  splendour  shone, 

The  Troubadour  wou'd  journey  on  260 

Transported — or,  from  grove  to  grove, 

Framing  some  roundelay  of  love, 

Wander  till  the  day  was  gone. 

"  All  will  be  well,  my  Jacqueline  ! 

"  Oh  tremble  not — but  trust  in  me. 

"  The  Good  are  better  made  by  111, 

"  As  odours  crushed  are  sweeter  still ; 

"  And  gloomy  as  thy  past  has  been, 

"  Bright  shall  thy  future  be !" 


94  JACQUELINE. 

So  saying,  through  the  fragrant  shade,  270 

Gently  along  he  led  the  maid,     . 

While  Manchon  round  and  round  her  played ; 

And,  as  that  silent  glen  they  leave, 

Where  by  the  spring  the  pitchers  stand, 

Where  glow-worms  light  their  lamps  at  eve^ 

And  fairies  dance — in  fairy-land, 

From  every  cot  above,  below, 

They  gather  as  they  go — 

Sabot,  and  coif,  and  collerette, 

The  house-wife's  prayer,  the  grandam's  blessing  j 

Girls  that  adjust  their  locks  of  jet,  281 

And  look  and  look  and  linger  yet, 

The  lovely  bride  caressing; 

Babes  that  had  learnt  to  lisp  her  name^ 

And  heroes  he  had  led  to  fame. 

But  what  felt  D'Arcy,  when  at  length 
Her  father's  gate  was  open  flung  ? 
Ah,  then  he  found  a  giant's  strength ; 
For  round  him,  as  for  life,  she  clung  ! 
And  when,  her  fit  of  weeping  o'er,  29i 

Onward  they  moved  a  little  space, 
And  saw  an  old  man  sitting  at  the  door, 


JACQUELINE.  95 

Saw  his  wan  cheek,  and  sunken  eye 

That  seem'd  to  ga  e  on  vacancy, 

Then,  at  the  sight  of  that  beloved  face, 

At  once  to  fall  upon  his  neck  she  flew  j 

But — not  encouraged — back  she  drew, 

And  trembling  stood  in  dread  suspence, 

Her  tears  her  only  eloquence  ! 

All,  all — the  while — an  awful  distance  keeping; 

Save  D'Arcy,  who  eor  speaks  nor  stirs  j  801 

And  one,  his  little  hand  in  hers, 

Who  weeps  to  see  his  sister  weeping. 

Then  Jacqueline  the  silence  broke. 
She  clasped  her  father's  knees  and  spoke, 
Her  brother  kneeling  too 
While  D'Arcy  as  before  looked  on, 
Though  from  his  manly  cheek  was  gone 
Its  natural  hue. 

"  His  praises  from  your  lips  I  heard,  310 

"  Till  my  fond  heart  was  won ; 
"  And,  if  in  aught  his  Sire  has  erred, 
"  Oh  turn  not  from  the  Son ! — 
41  She,  whom  in  joy,  in  grief  you  nursed; 
"  Who  climbed  and  called  you  father  first, 
"  By  that  dear  name  conjures — 


96  JACQUELINE. 

"  On  her  you  thought — but  to  be  kind ! 

"  When  looked  she  up,  but  you  inclined? 

"  These  things,  for  ever  in  her  mind, 

"  Oh  are  they  gone  from  yours  ?  320 

*'  Two  kneeling  at  your  feet  behold ; 

"  One — one  how  young; — nor  yet  the  other  old. 

"  Oh  spurn  them  not — nor  look  so  cold — 

"  If  Jacqueline  be  cast  away, 

"  Her  bridal  be  her  dying  day. 

"  Well,  well  might  she  believe  in  you  !— 

"  She  listened,  and  she  found  it  true." 

He  shook  his  aged  locks  of  snow; 
And  thrice  he  turned,  and  rose  to  go. 
She  hung ;  and  was  St.  Pierre  to  blame,  330 

If  tears  and  smiles  together  came? 
"  Oh  no — begone  !  I'll  hear  no  more  !" 
But,  as  he  spoke,  his  voice  relented. 
"  That  very  look  thy  mother  wore 
"  When  she  implored,  and  old  Le  Roc  consented. 
-"  True,   I  have  done — have  done  and  suffered 
wrong; 


JACQUELINE.  97 

;l  Yet  once  1  loved  him  as  my  own. 

"  —Nor  canst  thou,  D'Arcy,feel  resentment  long; 

"  For  she  herself  shall  plead,  and  I  atone. 

"  Henceforth,"  he  paused  awhile,  unmann'd  ;  349 

For  D'Arcy's  tears  bedewed  his  hand ; 

"  Let  each  meet  each  as  friend  to  friend, 

"  All  things  by  all  forgot,  forgiv'n. 

"  And  that  dear  saint — may  she  once  more  descend 

"  To  make  our  home  a  heav'n ! — 

"  But  now,  in  my  hands,  yours  with  hers  unite. 

«'  A  father's  blessing  on  your  heads  alight ! 

"  — Nor  let  the  least  be  sent  away. 

"  All  hearts  shall  sing  '  Adieu  to  Sorrow !' 

•'  St.  Pierre  has  found  his  child  to-day ;  350 

"And  old  and  young  shall  dance  to-morrow." 

Had  Louis*  then  before  the  gate  dismounted, 
Lost  in  the  chase  at  set  of  sun; 
Like  Henry,  when  he  heard  recountedf 
The  generous  deeds  himself  had  done, 

*  Louis  the  Fourteenth. 

+  Alluding  to  a  popular  story  related  of  Henry  the 
Fourth  of  France ;  similar  to  ours  of  "  The  King  and 
Miller  of  Mansfield." 


98  JACQUELINE. 

(That  night  the  miller's  maid  Colette 

Sung,  while  he  supped,  her  chansonnette) 

Then— when  St.  Pierre  address'd  his  village-train, 

Then  had  the  monarch  with  a  sigh  confessed 

A  joy  by  him  unsought  and  unpossessed,  360 

— Without  it  what  are  all  the  rest? — 

To  love,  and  to  be  loved  again. 


THE   END. 


